


I'll Follow You Into the Dark (so lead me into the light)

by Jonaira



Series: Sketching Life (or the How's and Why's of everything Steve Rogers) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Angst, Angst and Humor, Artist Steve Rogers, Boys Being Boys, Boys Will Be Boys, Brooklyn, Brooklyn Boys, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, F/M, Gallows Humor, Growing Up, Humor, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inappropriate Humor, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Canon, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Religion, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt, Ridiculous, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Sassy Steve Rogers, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Troll!Steve, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, troll!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonaira/pseuds/Jonaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavily inspired by I'll Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie.  </p><p>Steve rings in the New year under an ice shelf.</p><p>Bucky isn't yet 'Lady Killr' Barnes.  Yes, Killr like that.  Hurt happy Hurt sandwich.  Red lacy lingerie. </p><p>Sass War 1.  Love Guru Steve. Kinky HYDRA soldiers. Brace yourself, feels are coming. </p><p>Easier read than said. It'll make sense, I promise.</p><p>This summary  looks like a joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Follow You Into the Dark (so lead me into the light)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [23emotions](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/23emotions) collection. 



> dead reckoning
> 
> n. to find yourself bothered by someone’s death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift.
> 
>  
> 
> Caution: Might be a trigger for some, implied possible latent suicidal tendencies. 
> 
> Heavily inspired by I'll Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie. Never heard a song more fitting for this OTP of mine. And written nearly wholly while listening to it. Like, hours and hours of it.  
> I'm confused. It started out nice and angsty and bittersweet and then troll!Steve and troll! Bucky happened.  
> They sass. I cry. I don't even know.  
> This fic just wrote itself, and just damn, but these two boys.  
> I'd suggest listening to the song while reading for best results.  
> Here be feels.
> 
> Comments are my catnip :)  
> Constructive criticism much appreciated :)  
> Flamers will be roasted like Guatemalan coffee >:)

_Love of mine, some day you will die_  
_But I'll be close behind_  
_I'll follow you into the dark_

On the Twelfth day of Christmas the war gave to Steve, one dead James Buchanan Barnes. One lost Soldier. One lost Fighter. One lost Son. One lost Brother. One less Good Man. One lost drinking buddy. One lost partner in crime. One lost Friend. One lost Guardian Angel. One lost Love.

And one fucking abyss in his soul.

Steve rings in the New Year under an ice shelf.

 

  
_No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white_  
_Just our hands clasped so tight_  
_Waiting for the hint of a spark_

**Dated: Time…is tricky. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care either. Time stands still from here on.**

Bucky’s final scream is still ringing in his ears, the wind from the rushing train buffeting him as he holds on for dear life outside the train.

It hits him then, that Bucky’s gone.

He’s on auto-pilot now, joints locked on the handrail as he shuffles towards the ragged hole in the side of the car. And then the universe decides to mock him when the clouds part for the first time during the entire day and shafts of golden sunshine makes the mountains burn hotter than rage and brighter than the Pearly Gates, snow-blinding him. A shout from Gabe snaps him out of it briefly and its enough for him swing back onto the train. Its when Gabe looks around for Bucky and Steve numbly shakes his head, jaw clenched so hard he’d probably bite through steel that he starts feeling it. Or more like the lack of it. He doesn’t know what ‘it’ is. For the first time since he stumbled out of the VitaRay chamber he feels nauseous and dizzy. Like something warm and bright in him has gone out. He could swear he hears footsteps but when he swings around, willing it to be Him, dusting snow off his peacoat, that ‘I’m back. Let’s do thisto’ smirk fixed in place, hope and despair warring in him fiercer than on the frontlines, it’s nothing more than the wind snapping a loose sheet of metal against the side of the car.

It crushes him then, that Bucky’s gone.

Monty sits down hard and Dernier crosses himself, gleaming eyes raised to the sky when they count one man less through the binoculars. Nobody says ‘We’ll find him, and won’t stop searching until we do.’ They’ve learnt by now that its not reality that crushes, but hope that delivers the Coup de Grâce.

 

  
_If Heaven and Hell decide_  
_That they both are satisfied_  
_Illuminate the No's on their vacancy signs_  
_If there's no one beside you_  
_When your soul embarks_  
_Then I'll follow you into the dark_

**Dated: 25 th -26th November, 1944**

Steve can feel lesser and lesser of his soul as the number of successful HYDRA base wipe-outs build and build and the body count to Captain America’s name climbs higher than the flag on the 4th of July. He finds it darkly humorous, that sickness will never completely leave him. Even though his body’s healthy, his is a case of soul-sickness. He and Ma had had long talks about the Crusades and the Holy Wars. He’d never been able to wrap his mind around killing in the name of the Lord. And now even when he can think so much faster, comprehend so much more, he still feels fourteen and baffled and misses his Ma.

The raw and naked blood-lust he feels chills him to the bone, shocks him, the way his vision tints bright and shaky around the edges everytime they blow or sneak their way into a HYDRA base, everytime he thinks back to finding Bucky, babbling his name and rank and serial number, half dead and full abused. He’s thankful for the slight disadvantage the shield has as a weapon, wherein because he has to pick his targets carefully since he’s undefended while it knocks them out, he can’t simply gun down every fucking bastard responsible for making Bucky twitch hard at the sight of penicillin needles.

 

Some days, the uniform tight across his chest steels his spine and on others feels it like an Iron Lung, animating him and breathing for him with forced fervour, alternately crushing and inflating his personal morale.  

Curled up in their tent one night he’s tossing and turning until Bucky whispers “Spill Rogers, since when did you stop paying your taxes?”

Steve’s doubts pour out.

How many of the men they kill are nothing but foot soldiers, disposable and low in the chain of command. Who don’t know anymore what they’re actually dying like flies for, but that they only want to protect their home and family. How many skinny short guys and their smart-talkin’ friends signed up just to watch the other’s back. How many of them actually believe or are even aware of the HYDRA slogan. And this horror he feels at his own hypocrisy, wanting to rend them limb from limb even though he knows that ‘them’ are not the real culprits but rather just scapegoats bleeding for sins they aren’t directly responsible for committing. How can he meet the eyes of his Maker when he himself won’t look in the mirror some mornings for fear that he’ll not recognize what gazes back, that a scarlet skull will grin out at him.

Bucky is silent for so long that Steve is just about to check if he’s asleep when he rasps out, stilted and grave,

“I don’t know any more than you if we’re actually solving the problem by going after the henchmen instead of the big guns, like maybe Zola himself. I don’t know if I have faith in God anymore to save us from the wolves, to save us from ourselves even.

But I believe in angels Steve. Especially when they speak French dirty enough to make your ears fall off , wear a goddamn bowler hat into combat, can rig a bomb outta even moonshine if they have to. Especially when they can stitch a gash wider than the Grand Canyon when under fire, when they’re named for Gabriel himself. And this one in particular, who like an Archangel with crockery for a weapon throws said dinner plate and pulls my ass out of the fire ev’ry damn time. I’m a sniper, eyes in the sky I see the big picture better. You’re the artist who fines tunes the details and gets down to the nitty-gritty. I don’t get how each one of us cogs fit into the whole machine pal, and maybe we’re not fighting the good fight at all, but I’ll fight for you if nobody else. I find God in the kick-back of my gun, salvation if it’s still possible for me when it’s one of theirs and not ours who drops. The trigger under my finger is the only religion I can follow right now, Stevie . The smokes passed amongst the seven of us is my Communion."

Steve is not sure which of them says it as they both drift off after that. “It ain’t about who’s right but who’s left, after all.”

 

 __  
  
_In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule_  
_I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black_  
_And I held my tongue as she told me,_  
_"Son, fear is the heart of love."_  
_So I never went back_

 _  
_ **Dated: August 6 th and 13th 1934**

Steve’s peeling palm clenched in both of Bucky’s hands is sweaty, has been for a while now. Mrs. Rogers has repeatedly told Bucky to avoid touching him for fear of the infection transferring, gently, firmly, kindly, worriedly, sharply and in a defeated sort of resigned way the last time, before giving up , smoothing Bucky’s hair away from face and bringing him up a plate, feeding him because he refuses to leave Steve’s side to wash his hands. “I’ve got to, Mrs.R, I just can’t not. We need somebody on watch constantly to yell if his pulse gets weaker.” She kisses the top of his head and takes his plate away after he’s done. Bucky sits as still as a statue, vision tunneling to Steve’s face with his flushed cheeks, skin peeling like his hands. He knows the worst is over but he doesn’t have it in him to leave. If Stevie’s gonna try to leave the building, Bucky’s jolly well gonna be there to block every exit.

An indeterminate amount of time later, his eyes flutter open and he blinks blearily at Bucky and smiles toothily.

“What kinda punk goes and gets Scarlatina[1] smack dab in the middle of the summer vacations huh ? We got roofs to climb, fish to fish, people to do, things to see.” Bucky says..

Sick as he may be, Steve raises an eyebrow and slurs

“And what kinda jerk wastes precious summertime watchin’ a face peel like an orange when they could be askin’ Janey Collins out on a date?”

Bucky turns a bit pink at that but answers coolly enough. “That was lame Rogers, but I’ll let you off easy because I don’t pick on convalescents.”

"Ate a dictionary for lunch, huh Buck ?" Steve rolls his eyes so hard Bucky stops himself from reaching out to catch them. He strains a bit, digging his elbows in and trying to sit up. Bucky adjusts the perspiration soaked pillow behind Steve’s head. His voice is mildly stronger when he speaks this time. “No really Buck, you know she’s been making eyes at you every single time she comes to pick up groceries from the cart. She’d be more than willing if you’d just stop beating the Cowardly Lion[2] at his own game and actually did more than flail around and throw her shifty grins when bagging her fruit for her.”

“Sure Dorothy, I’ll just follow the yellow brick road down to her place then, shall I.”

“I’d look stunning in Silver Shoes and you know it. No, for real Bucky, what’s stopping you from askin’ the dame ?.”

Bucky huffs and looks away, muttering, “Oh, so now Dorothy here’s gonna lip at me.” And then something more about fish, King Kong and Footlight Parade. Steve’s hasn’t heard Bucky mutter since the time they were nine and Bucky had broken three fingers in a fall from the roof they were tiling for a little extra dough on the side. Steve had been helping, trying to earn quietly on the side when his mother was busy at the hospital.

Muttering (“..takes more’n that to crack my coconut Mum..”) because Mrs. Barnes was yelling herself hoarse while she simultaneously iced his hand and dragged him by the ear to take a tram to the hospital to set his fingers.

“What if you’d broken your neck, you ridiculous boy !! What would I do then, how would I tell Becca that her brother was as good as dead ?!” her voice breaks on the last word. “And _you_ Steven Rogers, how could you not only _let_ my damn fool son take this kind of a job but _join_ him as well? Oh ho young man, I’ll be having words with your Mother, oh just you see.”

It had so happened that Sarah Rogers was the one who attended them. Steve and Bucky shudder for years later when they think back to that afternoon, although Bucky still smiles goofily when he remembers his mother hugging him and whispering “Jimmy, loving you is like loving fear incarnate, a heart attack on two legs and an’ a mouth that can run itself faster than an auctioneer. What would I ever do without you sweetheart?”

Back in the present, Steve says, “What’s that Barnes, I don’ speak Shrinking Violet.”

Bucky glares at him then, blue eyes steely in the dim light.

“I said, it’s not like I can show her a good time anyway Rogers. Coney Island Whitefish[3] ain’t the thing to impress a gal with. It’s not like I can take her dancing either, be all smooth and Footlight Parade. She’s probably gonna think I’m a first class duh-ta-duh[4]. Make King Kong look all kinds of gentlemanly. Fuggedaboudit[5]. My old man’s not keeping so well of late, and Mum could always use the extra set of hands at home. Don’t need to spend my wages showing a girl a swell time anyway. S’not like she’d wanna go to town with a guy having my kind of money anyway. Or lack thereof.”

Steve just looks at Bucky then, shaking his head gently. He smiles fond, exasperated, proud, the whole cocktail. “Bucky, you twit. Janey’s played stoop ball with you and whipped your grumpy backside back when we were just snot nosed kids who thought girls gave us cooties.” (“Hey now, you’re just jealous Captain Smallass.” Bucky then twists in his chair and apparently talks to his bottom “You’re beautiful sweetheart, don’t mind him.”)

“I’m pretty sure she ain’t the gold digger type, Buck. Just take a walk, have a couple of lemon ices. If she’s a smart girl, she’ll know a good thing when she sees it. Fear shouldn’t be at the heart of love, Buck.”

Bucky scratches the back of his head nervously.“You really think she’d give me the time of day ?” Steve’s taken by surprise. Bucky doesn’t do nervous. Huh.

“I’d suggest late evening, sets the mood better than the day. S’all in the lighting, buddy.”

“Can it with the sass Rogers.” Bucky smiles.

Steve grins back. “It’s a done deal, pal. Tell you what, lemme sweeten the pot. I’ll do a sketch of the two of you together to mark the occasion, fine ? Live and delivered within ten minutes tops, rent-a-DaVinci for an evening.”

Bucky laughs at that, sharp and amused. He looks at Steve carefully then, face open and earnest, eyes searching.“You know I’d rather spend an evening messing around with you right, rather than any dame who’d fancy an evening with me ?” He doesn’t turn down Steve’s sketch offer though.

“Yeah yeah you sap. Thank me later.”

A week later Steve’s fit as a fiddle (a slightly wheezy, asthmatic fiddle as far as things go but playable nonetheless) and is no longer peeling like a sprout. He does do the portrait of the two of them, both sets of eyes crinkled and twinkly in huge smiles and presents it to Janey with a flourish, even though there’s a small niggling feeling somewhere in his gut. Janey’s a sweet thing. Bucky would have a great time. But then Bucky should have the best and he’s not sure if thats Janey, he thinks and then wonders where the heck did that thought come from. She takes it from him and then looks closely at Bucky. Bucky rubs at his nose self-consciously. “There something on my face? Steve did’ja give me a handlebar or somethin’ ?”

“No no James, he’s done a wonderful job. Thank you so much, Steve. Just made a tiny observation, its probably nothing.” she smiles sweetly. Steve ducks his head. He leaves them to the rest of their date and waits out on the fire escape until Bucky gets back much later.

“Well ? C’mon Barnes, how’d it go ?”

Bucky looks happy and bemused in equal measure “Well, I can now officially tell you that lipstick looks a lot better than it tastes. Hot damn can that girl kiss though.” he ends a bit giddy.

“Well done Buck. They grow up so fast.” Steve pretends to wipe a tear and sniffs. And he’s happy for Bucky, he genuinely is. Jesus knows he’d probably have gone and asked Janey to go out with Bucky himself, what with Buck mooning about her all day, reciting odes to her freckles and generally going about looking ridiculously like a lost puppy. But it’s back though, that tiny itchy feeling of something being a little off. He realizes what when he’d rather not imagine Bucky holding her close, a gentleman as he kisses her good night. Almost like jealousy. Or no, envy. And that’s ridiculous, because he’s no dame and it’s not like he wants to kiss Bucky. Nope, no siree. His brain’s all in a poof today. He sits on it hard.

Bucky shoves him gently. “Punk.”

“Back at you, jerk.”

They’re quiet for a while, content to listen to the noises from the street below. He looks up at Bucky then, only to see him look a bit pensive. Steve nudges Bucky and twitches a questioning eyebrow at him. He doesn’t need a lot of prompting.

“It’s just something she said after I’d left her on her on her doorstep. She was looking at that sketch again, real focused. When I told her she looked even prettier in reality though, she looks at me all dewy-eyed and goes ‘Oh James’. So I bat my lashes at her and say ‘Oh Janey.’ – (Steve groans out loud at that. “Barnes you first class goof”) - “and then she’s going on about my smile, of all things.” Bucky’s eyes are the size of saucers now.

“I mean my damn _smile_ for cryin’ out loud. I don’t get them Stevie, dames, I swear.” He throws his hands up and waggles them. “She was all, ‘You know James, you’ve been swell and I hope you had as good a time as I did. But you lit up like Christmas when Rogers came along and I just couldn’t help thinking”- and I’ve no idea what she was thinking, because I sorta hugged her at that point, because the lady wasn’t making a mite of sense to me and I just hoped I hadn’t boned the date, y’know? I mean, she couldn’t have thought too bad of me though, because she kissed me then. Wow now, I just sounded like Becca going on about one of the boys she likes with her girlfriends. Steve, pal, you gotta put me down if I start reaching for the lipstick.

“I will if you choose red, always figured you for more of a pink kinda guy.”

Bucky grabs Steve and tries to dip him into an exaggerated faux kiss.

“Geddof me you caveman. Pretty girl laying one on you not more than a half hour ago not enough to get your rocks off?” Steve is all too aware of Bucky’s arms wrapped around his waist, chests a little too close. And his heart shouldn’t stutter like it does. Dratted heart-murmur.

Bucky waggles his eyebrows at Steve like a vaudeville villain.“Maybe I could use a pretty boy’s help too.”

Steve elbows him and Bucky jumps good and proper. “Watch where you stick your twigs, Rogers, this is one piece of prime male specimen right here” he drawls and then puffs out his not-so-skinny-afterall chest for show.

And it’s really getting on Steve’s nerves now, how that unidentifiable feeling that had crept up his spine when Bucky called him a pretty boy now refuses to slink away and only coils tightly around his heart instead, warm and nuzzling, when Bucky fondly and utterly carefree throws his arm around Steve’s shoulders as they throw their cares about money, school, jobs, family and the green again, to the wind and just be boys drunk on life for a night.

 

  
_You and me have seen everything to see_  
_From Bangkok to Calgary_  
_And the soles of your shoes are all worn down_

**Dated: 6 th October, 1944**

Steve’s soul is weary and his soles are wearier. They’re worn and tearing off the edges of his boots. Well, he can at least feel the bits of gravel that get in through the curling toes. His soul is another matter entirely. Bucky and Morita each pick a worn boot from the Captain America get up which is still more decorative than functional and race to stitch up the worst of the holey bases. Bucky wins three ciggies despite Jim being the field medic. Sitting around the fire freezing their sorry backsides off Dum Dum says with a twinkle in his eye,

“Something you wanna share with us Jimmy ?”Bucky chuckles low and relaxed. He shrugs, meeting Steve's eyes, fond and nostalgic. 

“Nothin’ much to tell there. Cap here was always pretty out of it whenever we’d come back from an alley fight, so I ended up darning the rips and sewing on our buttons mostly. Did my Ma proud, I did.” Steve is quick with a come back. “Aww Buck, you ain’t telling them the full story. Boys, much before we got into alley scraps like tomcats, Buck here moonlighted stitching the little outfits for his younger sister’s dolls. Becca’s dolls would have turned Greta Garbo and Betty Davis green-oof !” he cuts off as Bucky blushing so hard that his cheeks glow even in the rosy light from the flames thwaps him upside the head. The damage is done though and over the next few days Bucky gets steadily tired of questions and jibes about buttons and bloomers until he himself is willing to go into the field guns a’blazing and naked as the day he was born if it weren’t for the damn mosquitoes. As it happens, the teasing crescendos and comes to an end only when Dernier and Gabe discover and the Commandos solemnly present Bucky with some poor lady’s lace knickers they discover in a HYDRA soldier’s pocket. Fire-engine red. He accepts it with a face straighter than Steve’s back during Parade Attention.

  
_The time for sleep is now_  
_It's nothing to cry about_  
_'Cause we'll hold each other soon_  
_In the blackest of rooms_

Peggy’s voice cuts off. The impact breaks something. Multiple somethings. He can feel the sharp-and-dull pain of broken bones, strapped in though he is. The windshield glass has sprung multiple leaks, as he sits there, slumped with the cold making his chest rattle like it used to before the serum and his breath steaming. His ankles are numb in the water. Ever since Bucky fell his mind had been quiet, the oppressive kind though, where the silence weighs down on your ear drums and makes the air-rush of breathing a harsh intrusion, a whispers' echo coming back a scream. Now, Steve finds his mind drifting like snowflakes, gentle and soft and pointless. Thoughts and feelings click and slot into place too fast and too slow simultaneously. He’s going to see Bucky. He’ll meet Ma there too. Steve doesn’t really know where exactly there is.

 

 _If Heaven and Hell decide_  
_That they’re both are satisfied_  
_Illuminate the No's on their vacancy signs_

He’s not sure if he’s bad enough for Hell. If he does reach there, he’ll sock Hitler in the jaw proper once the Fuhrer makes his merry way down. No skin off his nose.

He doubts he’s done enough good to reach Heaven. His soul just isn’t intact enough to cut it. Maybe Purgatory then. Actually, he doesn’t know if this way he’s dying counts as suicide. Could he have locked the coordinates into the navigation system and jumped out ? Huh. He could have done that after all. Oh well, maybe his subconscious was more in control than he thought, because he’s OK with dying like this really. It’s fitting even, the way he going part by part as the water inches up, his chest going numb now, slowly deadening, just as the War had slowly deadened some and quickly killed other parts of him. There is no way he’d have told anybody, not Peggy, not the Commandos, not Howard or Phillips about the way he’s been feeling. Or not feeling, considering how numb he’s become. If he’d let the grief have him, well, Erskine would have had to have come back from the dead and juice up some other soldier because Steven Rogers would’ve crumpled like tin foil after Bucky’s swan dive. He’ll be meeting the jerk in a little while (the anticipation he feels is like the first time he ever flew, transatlantic to London, the way his gut clenched before take off and stayed clenched the full half hour before taking to the skies.) he can poke fun (however pathetic) at the deceased now that he’s soon to be one.

Maybe the reason he didn’t say a word was because everybody (left. Everyone left. Gone.) he could actually talk to, who cared for him as person genuinely, was too invested in him, in his happiness and emotion, in his survival. He doesn’t want to, can’t, saddle them with his grief and really, he doesn’t want to leave pain in his wake, there’s enough of that as it is. So yes, maybe he did want to be dead, because the half of what’s worth living for in his life had crossed over already and he’s just a waif, a spectre, in the real world. It takes strength to share pain so visceral, to say that he’d like the coward’s way out and its strength that he no longer possesses. He’d always looked to Bucky for strength anyway, though it’s not that good an excuse. If he’d been better at making excuses to himself though he’d not have joined the Army.

And maybe that’s why he hasn’t told anybody who cares really, because nobody has cared more than Bucky. Its always been Bucky’n Steve, Steve’n Bucky against the world. Maybe he hasn’t tried to talk to anybody in order to fix this and move on because he doesn’t want to move on, doesn’t want to leave behind Bucky stowed away somewhere small and safe, gathering dust under lock and key in his psyche. Doesn’t want to leave him behind the way he did in that valley. Without Bucky by his side, he can’t see the end of the tunnel. Anyway, wherever he’s headed, where it’s Bucky’s waiting for him, just maybe there aren’t any tunnels, only light.

He’s feeling warm now, water lapping against his chin. But no, it’s not water. Its Ma’s patting his cheek softly. He can feel her tucking him into bed, stroking back his hair. She blows out the candle then, and Steve sleeps.  
  
_If there's no one beside you_  
_When your soul embarks_  
_Then I'll follow you into the dark_  
_Then I'll follow you into the dark_

 

 

[1] An old term for Scarlet Fever. Although it’s a childhood disease, Steve has contracted it in my headcannon because of his terrible immune system even though he’s 16.

[2] Not referring to the Wizard of Oz movie, but the kid’s book that was published in 1900. I’m assuming they’ve read the book and long since cast their neighborhood gang into all the roles. Also, Dorothy has silver shoes in the book and not the Ruby Slippers like in the movie.

[3] Condoms that wash up on the Coney Island beach.  Brooklyn Slang.

[4] Slang for a moron, somebody slow on the uptake.

[5] Slang for ‘Never Mind’

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, comment guys :) Comments are awesome.  
> Hang out on Tumblr yo :) www.jonairadreaming.tumblr.com


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